


A Man Without Honor

by HappyTerrier



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24594793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyTerrier/pseuds/HappyTerrier
Summary: Ned Stark's story was supposed to be one about finding the cause of Jon Arryn's death. But then he discovers that his future son Bran brought back Jaime Lannister from years in the future to prevent the Whitewalker fable coming true. Now his story is about how to trust a man without honor.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Jaime Lannister & Ned Stark, Tommen Baratheon & Bran Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	1. A Moonlit Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Fanfiction.net.

When Ned Stark pondered about King Robert Baratheon's visit the past few days, he thought the most startling event would be seeing his old friend again. He was prepared to find his friend changed, maybe sadder from his many years of ruling. Yes, it was a surprise; he never expected Robert to grow so fat and so, for a lack of a proper word, unruly.

But the biggest surprise was the constant stares the Kingslayer gave him and his family. Not the ones he expected, the arrogant, stares of a man who through he was better than him, but ones of pity. As if the Starks were people the man actually worried about despite their rival's family's history of fire and treachery. As if the Lannister family, as Lysa Arryn's letter had informed them, did not kill his dearest mentor, Jon Arryn.

He couldn't help but think about the Kingslayer when he should be enjoying the welcoming feast for his dear friend who he had not seen in many years. While Robert yelled about, questions piled in Ned's head.

Why did the Lannister offer to teach Bran swordfighting? Why did the Kingslayer walk around the keep, as Jorry informed him, looking at ever tower? He apparently even walked around the library. What was the man planning?

"Ned. King Robert just spoke to you." Catelyn whispered in his ear.

He turned to see Robert looking at him, his beard soggy with wine. A serving lady was smiling in his lap.

"I apologize, your grace," Ned said. "Can you repeat your question?"

"I was saying Ned, what do you think of this lass?" He grinned at the serving lady.

"She's a good servant." Though he wanted to, it would be improper to ask his king to leave the girl alone and respect his queen's dignity in front of the crowd.

"That she is." Robert laughed before going into a story about some brothel he once visited and a girl who bathed him before committing the dirty deed.

Ned looked away, wishing he could be somewhere else; somewhere where he did not have to listen to Robert deface himself with his misdeeds in front of the whole of Winterfell.

The Kingslayer walked in his line of sight, nodding at another Kingsguard knight, before grabbing a glass of wine and moving to leave the feast.

Ned could only imagine what treachery the dishonorable man was getting up to in his keep. Already he saw the man trick his son Bran in an unfair fight on the training yard.

Maybe, he was being too curious. He should be concentrating on the feast and entertaining Robert. But Robert was happily drinking along; perfectly entertained by the serving girl in his lap and some lady guests of Winterfell who came to hear his stories.

He told Catelyn that he was going to the privy. She squeezed his hand before he left, telling him that Robert would be back to normal in the morning. Hopefully, she was right. Though Ned doubted it. His old friend seemed to now be on an endless state of drunkenness.

Ned went through the door the Kingslayer had left a few minutes before. He followed the sounds of the Kingslayer's footsteps through the cool outdoors. The night was quiet besides the sounds of footsteps and wind. He followed the Kingslayer outside the walls and to the forest that led to the Godswood tree. The Kingslayer stopped when he reached the Godwood tree.

What was the Kingslayer doing at his family's sacret tree? Maybe, the Kingslayer was a devout follower of the seven. But that didn't sound like a Lannister. They cared far too much for a life of gold and power and murder.

The Kingslayer made a sound that could be considered laughter or could be called a sorrowful sight. It was hard to tell. before sitting next to the tree. "What a day," The Kingslayer whispered before sipping from the goblet of wine he stole from the feast. "Why did you do this to me, Bran? Why?"

Bran. Did he mean his late brother? Did Brandon even know Jaime Lannister?

He gurgled before shaking his head. "I woke up to the shouting of men. Bran. What a surprise it was. So many people shouting with joy. And all for the glory of almost arriving in Winterfell."

Ned flinched at the revulsion in the Kingslayer's words.

"Yes. Isn't it great to come to such a boring wasteland. Full of people who don't even know the dead are coming." The dead. Did the Kingslayer believe the rumors of the wights? He would think that the Southerner would care less for the folklore of the North. "You should be here instead, Bran. Here at your favorite tree." The Kingslayer took a large gulp from his wine. "What's the point? You should be here. Not me." He drank again. "You basically said that for me that there was no afterwards. But it was you who got no afterwards. You, the Three-eyed crow or raven or whatever everyone called you." He spit out some wine, whipping his chin. "What is the point? I did your plan. The realm has a chance to be saved, but for what. What can I do? You're the one who was meant to handle this, this." He pointed angerly at the tree. "But no. I'm here instead. The man with shit for honor and no clue what to do." He squirmed and moved to lean against the tree. "Everything's was destroyed. Everything. How can I expect to stop it?"

Ned shouldn't be here. It was not right to listen to a drunken man's confessions. But he was curious. Now more than ever before. It appeared that the Kingslayer knew his brother, Brandon, at least well enough to shout at him at the tree, as the Kingslayer had said, that Brandon loved so much.

While Ned barely talked about it - preferring to move on with the love of his children, nephew and Catelyn beside him - there wasn't a day that went by where he did not miss his older brother. The brave and handsome and special brother of his memories. The confident leader that he could never hope to be. The Warden of the North that could have made Catelyn so much more happier than his sullen self.

"Yes. The realm was saved thanks to you," the Kingslayer was now shouting. "But what am I supposed to do next. Say something, giving me a sign. Something beyond, you will know what to do when he creeps behind you."

A raven cawed suddenly. The sound made Ned flinch, causing his foot to step on a leaf that let out a loud, crunching sound.

The Kingslayer turned, his brow arching intensely in Ned's direction. "Whose there?" Should he announce himself? "Answer me, you fool. Are you one of those lecherous stalkers that lurk in the North."

"I beg your pardon, Kingslayer." Ned walked passed the shadows casted by the moonlight. "I came by to pray before I noticed you hear, speaking to my brother. I did not want to bother you, Ser."

"Too keen on your honorable reputation to admit that you decided to eavesdrop." The Kingslayer smirked.

"I only meant to not disturb…"

"No need. No need to apologize." The Kingslayer drank from his goblet again. "I don't really care. You can listen to my drunken ramblings all you want."

"I did not mean to.."

"You never meant to. But you always did find a way to become involved in whatever plot that's coming."

"And what plot would that be." Could he get the truth about Jon Arryn without even having to sneak around Kings Landing?

"The dead. The dead are coming. In six, maybe, seven years' time, if we're lucky. The dead, White Walkers and wights they are called, with the Night King leading the whole damn army of the dead." The Kingslayer shivered as he talked, fiddling with the bark of the Godswood tree.

It appeared that the Kingslayer was stuck in a state of drunken lunacy. "You heard about the folk tales in the north. They're nothing to fear. Just dark stories to teach our children."

"That's what you and all of us believed at this time. But we were wrong."

"Believe what you want." The Seven knew that the man was old enough to know logic from fiction. Ned knew better than most that there was no way to reason with a drunken fool. "I better leave you to your prayers."

Ned turned to walk away.

"Stop." Ned stopped and waited for the Kingslayer to continue. "Brandon told me that I would know what to do when someone came. I think it was you."

"You knew my brother. Didn't you? What did he tell you before he died." He needed to know.

"I'm not talking about your brother." Ned laughed at the Kingslayer's words. Who else could he be talking about? "I'm talking about your son."

"Are you telling me that you are blaming an ten-year-old boy for all the treachery you done?" That was entirely ludicrous. But what Ned could expect from an oath-breaker.

"I am not blaming him," the Kingslayer said softly. "The Stranger knows that it is me who deserves his blame and fury. But he forgave me or said he did. It does not matter. He did bring me here as punishment. A punishment I deserve more than most."

"I am not your confessor," Ned said. He needed to go before the Kingslayer went on a list of his sins to try to garner his sympathy. He should provide no sympathy for a man without honor. "I took too much of your time for confession. I apologize for dis-."

"I know. But Bran wanted you to help me. The Long Night is coming and maybe we can help each other make sure it does not come to pass."

"There you go talking about my brother. I don't know what type of relationship you both had, but don't expect the same kind from me." This was the price of his curiosity. A moonlit conversation with a drunken madman, hating himself for the pity he felt and the knowledge that his own choices had ensnarled him.

"Of course, it would not be logical to think that I'm talking about your son. For he is young, but I am. I'm talking about your eighteen-year-old son who has the power to turn back time and see the future and other confusing things that are beyond our comprehension. I still do not understand, and I am living through one of his magical gifts."

"I see." Ned said shortly.

"You do not." The Kingslayer sighed. "But that is fine. Maybe he meant someone else."

Ned doubted the Kingslayer believed those words. Though Ned hoped that he would give his ramblings to someone who actually cared about his welfare.


	2. Father

That night Ned Stark dreamed about walking through a swarm of dead men.

In the dream, the night was so dark, he could barely make out the features of hundreds of gruesome corpses who sieged the court of Winterfell. The corpses stormed as they thrashed their teeth and other weapons at the few living men who tried to fight them off. He passed a giant corpse who threw off two men who tried to stop it into a broken pile of sharp, wooden stakes.

As he neared the giant skeleton, he noticed a little, dark-haired girl run toward the smiling, burning beast. She reminded him of his little girl, Arya, because she was just as small and just as fierce. The corpse grabbed her and chocked her until she became as stiff as a rag doll.

Ned closed his eyes, wishing he could be anywhere else. Arya. Oh, Arya. Was this an omen of her death?

When he opened them again he was at the Godswood tree. A Godswood tree that was barren without the colorful leaves of summer. This time he stared at dead men far worse than the corpses.

Since the night was darker than ever before, he needed to squint to see the dead men who stood around the Godwood tree like glass sculptures, frozen and unmoving. The blue, glistening creatures stared straight ahead, unmoving.

He followed the frozen creatures to one whose lifeless face froze Ned in place. Before he through the giant corpse killing Arya's replica was the most terrifying part of this nightmare. He was wrong.

This bright creature, while a rough contrast to the dark night, made hope a fantasy. He made the promise of prayer a form of overwhelming despair.

This sleek creature walked towards a wheelchaired bound person that was barely a man. The man must be a fool because he did not move; he simply watched as the inhuman creature walked towards him. The fool did not even flinch when the creature took out a sword from behind his back.

The fool remained unmoving as the sword streamlined towards his chest.

Was this fool supposed to represent Ned? Was it supposed to represent his inability to deny King Robert's demand that he serve him as the Hand of the King?

The sword cut through the fool's chest when a young woman, a mere image of his sister, Lyanna, jumped on his back. He looked closer and saw his sister's proud eyes and then he realized, she was Lyanna, like the earlier girl was Arya.

This dream was trying to tell him something about both of them.

The monster turned, while he used one hand to slice the young man's stomach with his sword, his other hand squeezed Lyanna with its sharp claws. A sharp sound of crunching erupted as the creature chocked Lyanna. Lyanna clenched her jaw and a small dagger appeared in her hand out of thin air. With her tiny hand, she pushed the dagger into the monster.

The monster shattered into an uncountable number of pieces.

For a moment, Ned felt hopeful that the nightmare turned into a happy dream like the fables Maester Luwin told his children where the hero- in this case, the fearless Lyanna - defeated the villain.

But then, Lyanna fell as glass splattered into dust around her. She breathed one last word, "Bran," before lying still.

Ned walked towards Lyanna's body and he waited for her stomach to turn a torn bloody mess as it did during Lyanna's actual death. He was ready for the dream to merge into reality.

Nothing changed. She remained still. There was no sign of life. Just a doll, an unmovable doll. Poor, poor Lyanna.

He heard more glass shattering behind him and then a gasp from behind him.

Ignoring the tears burning his eyes, Ned turned to find the wheelchaired bound fool staring right at him.

The fool said something, quietly. He must have heard wrong.

"What did you say?" He stared at the blood bleeding out of the fool's chest.

"Father."

What? The two of them stared at each other for what felt like ages. What did that mean?

"Ned. Ned." Catelyn's voice echoed into the dream.

Father. What did that mean? Suddenly, he understood. Catelyn would know immediately if she was the one dreaming.

He was a father. A father first. That must be what the dream was telling him. Lyanna might be a lost so despicable that left him and King Robert heartbroken, but he must move forward despite her ever-present spotlight in his every moment. Despite the Kingslayer's earlier reminder of Brandon and the Northern legends of the dead.

"Ned," Catelyn called his name again.

The nightmare drifted away like the snow on an especially brisk day.

He opened his eyes to see Catelyn's bright blue eyes looking worried. "Ned. Are you feeling well? You have been shaking for over an hour."

He moved his shaking hand to softly clutch her warm cheek and hugged her closely, briefly appeased by her warmth. "I dreamed of Arya and Lyanna getting killed by the dead."

Catelyn immediately bolted from the bed. "I should check on her. Do you think, Arya's…?"

"No. It was only a dream," He told her when she frantically ran towards the door.

"I'll be back. I still should check."

Now alone with his thoughts, flashes of the dead corpses that represented Arya and Lyanna. In the dream, he did nothing but watch as he did when Lyanna slowly died on her birthing bed. In life, he did nothing but walk passed as the Kingslayer interacted with his children yesterday. When he talked with the Kingslayer, he focused more on learning about his relationship with Brandon than his children's safety.

"Do you think I'm a good father?" He asked when Catelyn returned.

"You have always been a good father. Don't let any dream make you doubt that. You would protect Arya and the others with your dying breath," Catelyn said fiercely.

Ned shook his head. "No. I'm not. Not recently. King Robert's visit has made me focused so much on Lyanna, on Brandon, on all of my family that is long dead."

"Oh, Ned." Catelyn kissed him softly. "You need this time to remember. Don't let any dream tell you otherwise. Our children will always be our biggest priority, but our other family will always be important. Take all the time you need to reminisce with Robert. I can only imagine the memories he is forcing you to think about in the crypts."

"I thought you would think me dishonorable, if I let my desires consume me."

Catelyn stated emphatically, "You're the most honorable man in all of Westeros and the entire East as well."

"Then, why does it feel so wrong. All these years, I…" Ned stopped himself. He could not blurt out his next thought. He could not mention his guilt for keeping Lyanna's son a secret. For all the guidance Catelyn provided, she could not help him recover from his sinful past.

"Ned." Catelyn clutched his hand. "How about you speak to the Gods in the Godswoods? Perhaps, they will provide the direction you so desperately need."

Ned smiled. Catelyn knew him so well.

Perhaps, the Godswoods would provide a safe place for prayer. No. He might find it overrun by a drunken Kingslayer again. He did not want to run into the man again, not when he was this vulnerable.

"I can't," Ned said sadly. "Earlier tonight I ran into the Kingslayer drinking heavily and rambling nonsense in the Godswoods."

"We will not stand for this," Catelyn yelled. "He needs to leave Winterfell. He has broken the most sacred of guest rites. I should have expected this. He is the worst oathbreaker. We should have never let him in our hearth and home."

"We will do nothing." It pained him to say those words.

"He brought sin to our place of worship. He rampaged it with wine and vulgarity, turning it akin to a whorehouse."

"Catelyn, stop. We will do nothing that may possibly anger the King or Queen. You know our place as well as I do."

Catelyn frowned, eyes glaring. She slowly moved through their solar to her desk. She clutched her hands on her mirror lying on her desk and sighed, "It's not right. But you're right. It's our duty to honor the King and Queen's wishes. No matter how vile the Queen's brother is."

She fiddled around with her brush and other trinkets lying on her desk. "Earlier today the Kingslayer had the audacity to tell Bran that he should not climb walls. He acted like he had the right to encroach our duty. I guess that is what bothered me the most. The knowledge that he is acting like he has the right to interact familiarly with our children. How can I protect them from a man who pretends to be so kind?"

The Kingslayer thought he could order Ned's Bran around? The audacity of the man.

"Tomorrow. I will demand that he stay away from them. We can do that at least." While he hated the idea of speaking to the Kingslayer again, he needed to listen to the dream and focus on being a father. His children's needs were bigger than his own.

"Thank you." Catlyn smiled, placing down an embroidery she was looking at before returning to their bed. She leaned beside him and clutched his hands. "Tell me, what did you talk to the Kingslayer about."

He thought back to the conversation and realized he would need to talk about the Kingslayer's mysterious friendship with Brandon. He didn't even know when he and the Kingslayer could have become friends. Was it the night Brandon and his father spent in the dungeons before their deaths? Did the Kingslayer spend that night laughing falsely at his brother and father and pretending to have a plan to save them?

Catelyn deserved to know. She had once cared deeply about Brandon when they were betrothed. "In the Godswood, he talked to my brother Brandon as if he knew him. As if they were friends."

Catelyn's eyes glowed a dark fury. "He watched him die. Watched as the device strangled him whole as he tried to save your father from being burned alive. He let him die. If what you think is true, he let his friend die. Bright, confident Brandon. He was always so kind to me and everyone he met. Even when my friend, Petyr, asked to duel him for my hand in marriage. I wish he never spent a moment with that arrogant, distasteful, disgraceful lion."

He would not cry. This was just another retelling of his father's and Brandon's death. Nothing to cry about. Nothing to fear.

Somehow the Kingslayer bonded with his brother, as horrible as that sounded, because Brandon became enamored with other people too easily.

"Apparently they did. He talked about some plan they made and Brandon's love for the Godswood tree. He talked about how Bran is Brandon somehow, like that is even possible. He rambled about the Long Night myth of the dead destroying the world. So much nonsense that doesn't matter. All I can think about is how he knew my brother better than me. Brandon never once shared with me any fears of the dead coming alive."

"Ned. Brandon was your brother. The Kingslayer could not have a relationship more sacred than that."

Ned said sadly, "I was never that close with my brothers as I should have been."

"Then, its good that Benjen's here for a few nights. You should see what he thinks about the Kingslayer knowing Brandon. And hear about his travels." Catelyn smiled. "I also have a need to write to Lysa and Edmure. Maybe, we both need to remember to interact more with our siblings."

Ned agreed. Maybe, Benjen will have some answers.

"As well," Catelyn continued. "I will reference in my letter to Lysa her message about Jon Arryn. Maybe, she has some information to connect the Kingslayer to the death. It's appearing more and more likely that the Lannisters are involved. We need to know as much as we can before you head South."

"I hope that will be enough," Ned replied. He hoped that his dream was not foretelling the end of Winterfell.


	3. The End and Afterwards

Jaime Lannister recognized the glares from Stark's guardmen. They were the same he encountered in his previous life all those years ago. Last time, he hated them for their self-righteous fury. This time he accepted their anger, knowing that he deserved their scorn. In his previous life, he had almost killed Young Bran on this very day. An action that would have, if nothing had changed, continued onto a broken path that led to their sworn family's destruction and his own.

So he ignored them, not even bothering with a characteristic smirk. He preferred to watch his youngest son and an unburdened Brandon Stark. Tommen looked happy as he clashed his wooden sword against Young Bran's. It was nice to see his gentle boy smile, his small crooked teeth peeking out.

The boys had become quick friends this time around. It was strange how a simple hello would change the course of history. Jaime had wanted to greet Bran as he once was and to try to give Tommen a freer visit. This time Tommen would not stay under his mother's smoldering grasp. He will have a chance to be a child. A child unrestricted by family feuds.

So far, his plan had worked. Tommen and Young Bran had done everything together the past few days. They ate like twins, ran amok like squirrels who chased after rats, and talked like conspirators planning an adventure through Essos.

He could have easily left them alone today, but he decided to not tempt fate.

Earlier, before breakfast, Cersei had sneaked into his room, as she had done the first time around. He had felt a familiar urge to fuck her and kiss her neck covered by her long, golden hair. He had felt so relieved to have her again, sane and whole, unhaunted by their children's deaths.

Yet, he dismissed Cersei's offer. He was still haunted by the Queen who burned the Sept of Baelor with wildfire and ruined the legacy of the one good deed he ever committed. The Queen that he felt for one night had returned to her previous, sane self. The Queen who refused to help with the fight against the Long Night.

In answer to his refusal, she had been angry, but unsurprised. She had just pouted and insulted his cock. She had, thankfully, recognized that it was too dangerous with Robert so close. A sure sign that there was still a chance to prevent her other self's madness.

When he had told her that he wanted to spend some time teaching Tommen about sword fighting, she had warned him about being too close.

While the family dined together, she had tried to convince Joffrey to join in, but the foolish monster had wanted to join in the hunt. Joffrey likely hoped to impress his false father. Good riddance, Jaime had little desire to interact with the future King.

During his demonstration, Tommen and Bran had heeded his every word and watched his every movement like crows. It brought back memories of being three and ten namedays, where he would watch Lord Sumner Crakehall's moves carefully and would mimic the Lord's smooth slashes of the sword and the Lord's firm stance. His fellow squire Merrett Frey had once talked over one of such demonstrations, leading to Lord Sumner making a surprise attack on the fool. Frey, despite being strong enough to lift a carriage, was no match for Lord Sumner and quickly tripped over his own feet. Lord Sumner appeared so invincible that day. For so long, Jaime thought he was as good as his teacher. Tommen and Bran certainly thought so with their looks of awe and excitement.

If only they could see Jaime as he grunted and failed to stuck Widow's Wail into multiple members of the undead. If only they saw him falling to the ground, wiggling about, as he tried to dodge the wights' endless attacks. If only they saw him struggle to raise his sword with his left hand and his golden hand falling to the ground. They would be rightfully unimpressed then. They would then recognize how weak he truly was.

Why did it have to be him? What hope did he have to improve the future?

Older Bran had foretold him here, but so far nothing else had occurred like the greenseer had warned. He had promised so much assistance in this endeavor and failed to deliver. No Stark had creeped up behind him. No King had listened to his thoughts about the danger of the undead. No Lady had offered him a deal.

"Kingslayer." The voice spooked him. A Stark had just creeped up behind him.

Of course, just when he experienced doubt, the first of Older Bran's promises had come true.

"Stark." He nodded at the man as he went to stand next to him. It took a second for Jaime to recognize the man. Of course, this man could lead the fight against the White Walkers and wights.

His new companion smiled fondly at Bran. The little boy lost concentration and waved at the dark-haired man. Leaving Tommen open to slam his wooden sword against the back of Young Bran's neck.

Jaime cheered as one of Stark's men cursed that his son was a cheat. He instinctively brought his left hand to his sword, before stopping himself. Insults were just insults. Foolish, blank words.

"Get in positions for the next round," Jaime ordered and the two boys immediately got in line.

They waited patiently for his signal. Once he raised his left hand, they started again, laughing heartily.

"It's nice of you to teach Bran to fight. He has wanted to be a knight since his fifth name day." Benjen Stark gave him a false grin.

"What do you want?" He had no need for pleasantries. Even if this man, as Older Bran had said, was going to be his ally.

"To thank you for treating Bran well. I heard you were friends with his namesake."

Ned Stark had mentioned that strange rumor a few days before. He gave the same answer to the night's watchman, "You heard wrong. I simply like Young Bran. He's a good friend to my nephew."

"They seem to be as good as brothers already. I'm sure you see Brandon in Bran. Both are bold and playful."

"Oh." Jaime sighed. The man was still staring at him. Most likely he needed Jaime to discuss the rumor in further detail. "Unlike the rumor you heard, I never knew your brother. The only times I saw him was when he foolishly provoked the Mad King and later strangled himself to death."

He still remembered trying to hide a laugh in that quiet, mournful throne room. Brandon Stark had reminded him that day of a chicken squealing before being slaughtered. The other men had frowned at his rude laughter. Except for Aerys, who had joined in, and had heckled loudly.

"Then, what were you doing speaking to him at the Godwoods the other night?" That was new. Ned Stark had accepted his answer and had chosen to instead demand that Jaime stay away from his children. A demand he was happy to ablige to, except for Young Bran.

"I don't know what you refer to." That was true. As far as he could recall, he had stayed far away from that tree that had changed everything.

"Stop lying, Lannister." Benjen growled. "Ned told me about what he saw and about the talk you both had that night of the welcoming feast."

"I'm sure it was a delightful conversation. Where we exchanged gifts and fought over the last lemon cake." Maybe something did occur that first night when he drank worse than Cersei and Tyrion combined. That was possible. He did have a terrible memory after drinking.

He remembered a facing hallucinations of the past that first, terrible night.

He remembered entering the Great Hall and finding Robert and Cersei glaring at each other as they ate at the head table. For a second, he saw Lady Sansa Stark and the knee-bender Jon Snow in their place, with the Dragon Queen holding court.

He remembered glancing at the table where the Stark children sat with his children. For a second, he thought Unsullied had taken their place.

He remembered feeling hopeful when he saw Myrcella talking cheerfully with little Sansa Stark. Myrcella had snorted when the redhead shriek after Arya Stark flung some food in her hair. For a second, he saw the huge Tarly boy reading some dusty tomb and Tyrion whistling sorrowfully in their place.

He remembered grabbing a goblet of ale and rushing out of the room to the empty corridor. For a second, he saw Ser Brienne of Tarth block his path and glare at him with her beautiful, sapphire eyes.

He remembered immediately gobbling the ale down his throat. Briefly, before his memories faded into a drunken hue, he heard her say something comforting.

He remembered nothing more before he had woken up the next morning in the woods with ale dripping on his chin, dirt along his legs and leaves in his hair.

In the present, Benjen schooled his face and said, "I guess you were too drunk to remember. Typical. Nothing better than a Wildling, you Lannisters."

"I never imagined a Stark as one of the insulting sort. That's more reserved for me and my kind."

"I know." Benjen smiled faintly. "Nevertheless, I come here on the behalf of the Lord of Winterfell, Ned Stark."

"His little lapdog. Or are you his direwolf?" Jaime smirked.

Benjen ignored him. "Lord Stark wishes that you refrain from spending time from his children."

"He made that request a few days ago. I told him I would abide to his most unhospitable request. I understand his concern with the disgraceful Kingslayer influencing his darling children."

"Yet, you still interact with Bran."

"He's friends with my nephew. Others would notice and question me if I stopped spending time near him when he's playing with my nephew. I'm sure you want Young Bran to have a friend."

"I think it's more than that."

"Yes, my secret friendship with his dead namesake. Delightful theory."

"Lord Stark wanted me to ask you what you are planning."

"I have many plans. Plans upon plans." One of the plans includes this man standing in front of him. Older Bran's first warning made sense. He wanted Jaime to trust Benjen Stark to handle the Wildling issue while he tackled the Robert and future War of Five Kings debacle.

"Does the plan include what you did to a certain Hand?"

This man was bold. Jaime could admire that. "I had no part in Arryn's illness. Poor Grand Maester Pycelle had to deal with an untreatable affliction."

"What's going on here?" Jaime felt his throat close up when a ghost of his past appeared behind him.

"Nothing to worry about Cassel." Benjen smiled at the guardsman. "We are simply discussing the remarkable improvement in Bran's aim."

Jory Cassel smiled, his blue-grey armor glinted brightly from the sun. The smile disappeared when Cassel turned to Jaime. "He's remarkable. Is he not, Ser Jaime?"

Cassel was surprisingly respectful. Jaime clenched the handle on sword. He did not feel guilty. It was war. He killed Cassel for Tyrion. He was not guilty.

In turn, Cassel place a hand on his own sword's handle.

Jaime tried to steady his breathing. He was here to make peace with the Starks. There was no point to a fight. "Young Bran is quite good, for a novice. But I have to say Tommen is much better. This is his first time practicing and he already unhanded Bran."

Cassel grasped his sword harder. Jaime loosened the grip on his. This was hilarious. Cassel really thought he stood a chance if this led to a fight. "Bran is far better than your nephew can…"

"I say they are evenly matched," Benjen interrupted.

Cassel chuckled. "Always the equalizer, Benjen."

"Or he's just the type of person who lacks a solid opinion," Jaime blurted. He despised people who tried to cool fighting with baseless words.

Cassel scowled at Jaime. His hand instinctively started to pull out his sword.

Some beast growled. A direwolf ran in between Jaime and Cassel. Jaime prepared his sword for the beast's advance. He still had nightmares of Robb Stark's beast breaking through his cage and chomping at his face.

Instead of lunging at Jaime, like he expected, the beast growled at Cassel. Jaime then realized that the beast appeared more silver than grey. Greywind had not come to demolish him as prey. This must be Bran's wolf; somehow he felt Jaime's link to Bran.

Jaime turned from the two men, planning to call Bran to help with his direwolf. He tensed when he realized that Tommen and Bran were no longer there.

Oh Seven Hells.

"Shush, I'm not here to hurt you," Cassel was attempting to calm the growling direwolf.

Not again.

"Summer, it's all right." Benjen was trying to calm the direwolf now.

Tommen and Bran are probably out exploring.

"If you sit, I'll give you a nice treat." One of his companion's said. He couldn't care which.

Bran said nothing about falling being his fate.

"Down wolf," Jaime snapped. He didn't have time for this. He need to check on Bran.

He would not need to choose.

The direwolf immediately dashed to Jaime's side and sat against his leg. Jaime's leg shook from the close contact. Undeterred by Jaime's fear, the direwolf simply smiled up at him, his tongue hanging out.

The direwolf was not supposed to like him. Jaime had hurt his owner without one ounce of guilt.

Benjen and Cassel were also surprised, if there open mouths were anything to go by.

He needed to remain calm. The direwolf could act irrationally for all he cared. He need to make sure Bran remained unharmed.

"Do either of you know where Bran went?" Jaime asked them. "They are no longer there." He pointed at the training yard.

Benjen shrugged. "They must have gone exploring."

Cassel cursed. "Bran might be showing your nephew how to climb towers."

"Dammit." Jaime clenched his fists. He pushed the direwolf away and ran off towards the empty towers.

Fate could be changed. He just needed to find them before they started climbing. He could hear Benjen and Cassel running behind him.

When he reached the abandoned tower where he and Cersei made love so many years ago, he starred at the empty courtyard.

Where were they? Where else could he fall?

"What are we doing here?" Benjen asked behind him.

"I thought. I thought they were here. But there not. Where else could they fall?" Jaime stared at Benjen and Cassel. This was hopeless.

A cool silence brewed between them. Bran's direwolf dashed back next to him, alert.

"Uncle Benjen." They turned to find Arya Stark walking over to them. The future assassin appeared so small and harmless. "You need to come. Now." She whispered something in her uncle's ear.

The direwolf licked Jaime's hand. He immediately slapped it away, brushing the slobber against his armor.

"What's wrong, Arya?" Benjen asked, squeezing her tiny hand.

Impatient, the direwolf raced forward, dashing around the tower.

"No time. He's injured." Arya tremored, a sharp contrast to her future, stoic self.

Older Bran was wrong. He had no chance to change the future.

"Where?" Arya led them to the other side of the tower.

What was he going to do? Once they found Bran, they would surely run up the stairs in the tower and find Cersei and whoever she had fucked. This couldn't happen.

Mrycella. Tommen. Cersei. He needed them safe.

Jaime turned the corner and gasped. A tall blond man lay crooked on the ground. Jaime noticed the man's similarities to himself; the trimmed beard, and the high-cheekbones. He ignored the tinge of sorrow he felt about the confirmation of Cersei's infidelity.

Beside the man on the ground, Bran cuddled near Tommen and clutched a steel cap that was adorned with the Stark sigil.

"Jacks." Cassel wiped sweat off his forehead, tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

Jaime nodded his respects. He then realized that Tommen looked haunted. What did he see?

"Tommen," he said softly, placing a hand on the boy's sweaty back.

Sniffling, Tommen stood up and clutched his legs. He rubbed his son's back. "It's going to be all right."

Tommen shook his head, tears now running down his cheeks. "I tried to save him. But I was too slow."

"It's not your fault." Jaime told him softly.

Jaime ignored a staring Benjen, who suddenly huffed.

"… like that. He fell from the tower," Bran was telling Cassel. Jaime noticed that the boy refused to meet Cassel's eyes. Bran was surely lying about something. Did he see Cersei's tryst?

"I'm sorry," Tommen mumbled, his eyes squinted towards Cassel.

What was he supposed to do? He didn't want to kill Bran, but he didn't want Cersei killed for adultery.

Sure, the boy was lying for the moment, but Ned Stark would surely convince him to tell the truth.

Bran's direwolf glanced at him. The direwolf's cold, blue eyes tore into his soul. If the creature was human, Jaime was sure he would be pleading to him.

Don't hurt Bran, please. The direwolf would say. Please.

Bran had told him that there would be no afterwards. Then, Arya Stark had died after she killed the Night King.

A few days later, Bran had called him to the Godswood tree. "I was wrong," The greensear had told him, lying his broken body against the Godwood tree. "The end is the beginning of your future and the end of mine."

He had escaped fate, yes, but Jaime did not know if he had the courage to let Cersei suffer in exchange for Bran's life.

Jaime sat next to Tommen, letting the boy fall into his arms. He needed to stay calm. He needed to not act hasty. Bran might have saw someone else with the guardsman .

Oh, he hoped that his worst fears were wrong. Because, if not, he would need to be ready to make a terrible choice.


	4. Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime confronts Cersei's about her latest discretion and considers doing something terrible.

Ch. 4: Failure

Unsurprisingly, the mood was somber that night. It was hard to believe that just the day before, the Starks and their guests had talked jovially in this large room during supper. 

Gone were the Stark children who had squealed and fought amongst themselves. The Stark bannerman no longer clicked their glasses and bellowed loud toasts as the cheered for their friends. 

If it wasn’t for Robert yelling after serving girls, Jaime would think he was back in the future again. The mood was that similar to when he and the others dined their last meal before the fight with the dead. Of course, the tactless scoundrel would still act the same after someone died. The King could care less about anyone but himself. 

Poor Ned Stark gazed morosely at his friend’s actions, too firm in his loyalty in the King and his honor to say a word. Even though he was the only one who could speak against the King without reprimand or being made a fool of by the bastard. Why, oh, why did Stark always waste his opportunities to challenge authority? But that was Stark, by the time he tried to take a stand, it would always be too late and lead to his death. 

Enough about Stark. Jaime didn’t need to think about him. Stark was nothing important in the scheme of things. Jaime needed to figure out what to do about Bran. 

Could he kill him? The little boy who could grow into the one person who gave Jaime a second chance. 

Jaime rubbed his right hand, feeling the smooth skin. He lost that hand once before as the Mother’s punishment for harming the boy. Not again. Never again did he want to lose that limb. 

But Cersei, she could get killed or thrown at the High Sparrow’s mercy again if Bran told anyone what he saw. Jaime didn’t want to lose her again, neither by death nor by self-righteous fury against the men and religious heretics who humiliated her. 

He gazed towards his lovely sister. She was finishing her meal next to Robert. Their eyes met as she raise a small chunk of meat in her lips. She licked her lips, her tongue lingered as she winked at him. She then dropped her utensil on a large mound of her uneatened dinner. 

After an expectant glance towards him, she wandered out of the crowded room. 

Without a single thought, Jaime rose from his seat. 

A warm rush of excitement rushed through him as he followed her out. He couldn’t control his excitement or the questions rustling like relentless snow inside him. He need to know why; why she couldn’t control her urges, and why he could never be enough. 

They met in the crypts. Jaime wasn’t surprised. The old, rugged tower was now a crime scene. The crypt was now the only place that would likely be empty and it was a perfect place for Cersei to spur the girl who had taken her husband’s love. 

He remembered the last time they did this, in the middle of one of Robert’s drunken spirts as the fat oaf mauled seven unlucky women in a row (as Jaime’s fellow knights had later told him). Cersei had moaned all about, “That scarlet Lyanna. The whore of the North. I screwed you this time for once.” 

In the present, as Cersei leaned against Lyanna Stark’s statue, Jaime was certain that Cersei was thinking about how much she hated that girl. Most certainly ready to moan the very same refrain. 

His body twisted towards her, moving on instinct, ready to get close again with the sister he once knew. She smelled of rosemary. A nice change from the smell of mildew that stank up the entire North. 

As his lips met hers, his brain became empty for the first time in days. Such a relief it was to not think for a little while. 

Unfortunately, the peace didn’t last. Right as his lips reached her soft neck, his eyes opened to see her long, golden locks disappear. She was replaced to the cold woman he left behind in King’s Landing. Short, blond hair, that was now lightly bronzed from nights imprisoned at the sept. Her green eyes cold, without an outside of emotion. His Queen still, but one who purposely dismissed her advisors and would leave the world to burn. 

Jaime pulled away. Cersei grabbed his arm. Her image had returned to her younger self. He missed meeting her like this, so happy and confident, and, best of all, without the overwhelming resentment. But Jaime could still recognize the woman he wanted to be free from. 

“Come on, Jaime, you had me waiting long enough,” Cersei purred, pulling him forward. She began to pull his trousers downwards. 

“I didn’t come here for this.” He pushed her hands upwards, pressing them tightly in his hands. “I needed to talk to you about the guardsman.” 

Cersei pouted. “He died. So what. Do I really have to pretend I care about a guy I never met.” 

“I know you were with him.” Jaime told her, pulling his trousers back upright. 

A flash of red burned in her eyes. “Dearest brother, you know I wouldn’t do that to you. I was off listening to some boring Northern whore squeal over my husband as the poor guardsman embraced his nude fetish.” Her mouth scowled in mock disgust. 

“Don’t lie to me. I know you’ve been fucking Lancel and Kettleblack and who know who else.” She was a liar; just like the rest of his family. If his comment ruined their meeting, so be it. He now knew better than to believe her beautiful face.

“Jealously is rather unbecoming of you.” His sister grinned, licking her lips. “But it is pleasing to know how much you really care.” 

“Cersei. Stop lying. I know you had him killed. Did you fuck him and then he threatened to tell Stark?”

Cersei groaned. “I really don’t know what your blabbering on about. I had nothing to do with his death.”

“He’s blond. You’re lonely. I refused to spend the day with you, but if I had, we would certainly have met in the abandoned tower. It is not too hard to figure out that you’re the reason he’s dead.”

“You think far too highly of yourself.” Cersei leaned her but against Lyanna’s head, sighing heavily. “I was annoyed sure, but I was perfectly capable of going through my day without you looking over my shoulder every second.”

“Cersei. Tell me the truth. I am not going to tell anyone.” 

Cersei pouted. “I thought you trust me. Tell me the truth.” 

“I..” Back then he had. But then too much happened for even him to believe her pretty words. “I did. I still love you, no matter what you did. You can tell me without being afraid.”

“Do you want me to spell it out for you? Do you want me to say I flirted with Jacks, that I asked him to meet him in that filthy tower, and that I ignored my better judgment and actually complied?” Cersei spit out, her voice becoming louder after every word. 

He did not to hear this. Not about her making love without another man. This was not his plan. He wanted to – what? Tell her that Bran saw her. Have her tell him to kill him so he could reason to himself that it was not his choice to kill the boy. 

“Bran …” Jaime began to say, the next words got caught in his throat. 

“What are you mumbling about now?” Cersei said, her voice than became softer. “I know this trip has been hard on you. It has been hard to the both of us. But soon we will be home again and free to continue on as the two of us, arm in arm, without even Robert getting in our way.” 

He wished that could be enough to satisfy him. But he lived through too much, knew too much, gained and lost too much, to be happy with that simple fantasy. 

“I am sorry I cannot be who you want me to be.” Jaime said softly. 

“What are you going on about now? What is wrong with you?” Cersei screamed. “I do not get you. Not when your like this. Tell me something to make me understand.” 

“You demand it as Queen, the true and rightful ruler of Westeros.” He saw the older Cersei again, winking at him as the dead rose behind her, ready to enact her bidding. This time the older Cersei looked had glass-like skin and ice-blue eyes. Just like a White Walker. 

“Soon very soon. That will be true. I have a plan to make that so.” Cersei’s eyes glistened with excitement. “Just you wait. We will finally have the life we deserve.” 

Jaime closed his eyes, needing to hide from the monster appearing before him. Maybe, when he opened them again, he would see his sweet sister again. See the long, golden-blond hair and clean, untainted skin. See a woman surviving a wicked man as she awaited her son to rule Westeros and mold it into a better world. 

“Jaime.” Cersei sounded worried now. “Jaime. What the fuck is wrong with you now?” 

“I can’t do this. I need to go.” Jaime opened his eyes. He still saw the White Walker with Cersei’s face. The time travel was messing with his brain. It must be. “Go away. Get away from me,” he yelled at the monster. 

“Jaime.” Icicle droplets were falling down the White Walker’s face. “Tell what I can do. I’ll do anything.” 

“Let me go.” He whispered. The White Walker was in his head. He was still talking to the past version of his sister. “I’ll be back. I simply need some time to ponder.”

“Jaime, please. Don’t leave me. I am scared. What if someone finds out?”

That she’s a monster? Why would she care about that? And then, Jaime realized the truth. She admitted to it. She actually admitted to him about her involvement with the Stark guardsman.

“You admit it then. You were with him.” 

“Yes,” Cersei sighed. “It did not mean anything. I was lonely. You know how I can be when I am lonely.” 

“I do,” Jaime said softly. “I really do.” 

“You are ready then? Ready to be me and you again? Give the whore of the North what she deserves.”

“Not tonight. I need some time.” 

Cersei nodded. “I see. I am not enough for you anymore.” 

Jaime laughed. “It is on me. It is all on me.” 

***

Jaime was surrounded by White Walkers. Everywhere he looked, he saw another lingering around the corner. He knew it wasn’t real. That it was only his imagination getting to him. But it still frightened him, not being able to see people as human. 

It was so cold and dark outside. The wind whistled and pushed him forwards. As Jaime shivered, he watched several servants lugging a large barrel towards the Starks guesthouse. The King likely asked for ale to be brought to his room. 

One of the servant’s glanced at Jaime, and he saw the barren skull of a wight. Instead of eyes, Jaime watched as blue maggots poured out of his eye sockets. The other’s turned, each with the same appearance. The only differences were the colors of the maggots. Some were brown. Some were orange. The worst was the maggots that poured red like blood. 

Shaking, Jaime rushed into a nearby building. The Stark’s home. 

As he wandered through the Stark’s house, Jaime considered his options. He could silence Bran now. Wander into his room and, if the allussions of the dead continued, he would only see himself killing a glassy monster or an undead skeleton. Yet, even with that visual he was reluctant to kill the boy.

He had watched the boy now, witnessed him playing with his son. Seen the boy be willing to lie about seeing Cersei with the guardsman. Knew the young man he would become. But Bran had the Stark honor engrained into him at an early age. How long could Jaime hope the little boy would stay silent?

Jaime needed to stop thinking of Bran as a boy, as an ally and as a person. Bran was a member of a family that always sided against the Lannisters. Bran was an enemy. A faceless enemy who could ruin the better future Jaime envisioned.  
A future where Cersei beamed as Tommen ruled in Robert’s and Joffrey’s place. A future where Myrcella married a man who adored her. A future where he gave Tyrion the lordship he longed for. A future where his little brother improved the Westerlands and found a woman who looked beyond his dwarfdom to become his wife. A future where the Starks stayed in the North and did not interfere with his family any longer. A future where Jaime befriended and knighted Sir Brienne again and forced Sir Barristan to initiate her as the first woman member of the Kingsguard. 

Bran could ruin those dreams. Jaime had to kill him. It was what Jaime’s family needed him to do. 

But was it what the realm needed? Bran warned Jaime that he needed to work with Benjen Stark to garner wilding support against the Whitewalkers. How could he work with man, knowing he likely suspected that Jaime had something to do with the boy’s death. 

Jaime had always prided himself with the knowledge that his decision to kill King Aerys was to save the realm. That his decisions to help Cersei and his family were to preserve a realm that welcomed his family to the power they deserved. But that was before he truly realized how deplorable he became. He killed his own cousin. And for what? Freedom. Love.

But what was freedom and love worth, if he continued to fail his children and failed to become the man of honor Sir Brienne thought he could be. 

Without even realizing it, Jaime found himself outside Bran’s room. Here he was. His body knew the answer to his problem. He should do it now. Kill the boy. Protect his family. 

Quietly, Jaime opened the door. A duet of a shrill yawn and soft whizzing rang across the room. It was the boy and his wolf, sleeping in harmony. The boy’s small head lay sideways on his pillow. The wolf slept on top of the boy’s legs, curling its front paws to clutch the wool bedspread. 

He moved forward, his sword’s scabbard brushing on and off his leg. As he stood to the side of the boy - No. This body was a Knight on the other side of the battlefield,- Jaime began to pull out his sword. He froze as the cold hilt burned his skin.

Blinking wildly, Jaime glanced at the boy’s face. For the first time since Cersei’s face twisted into a Whitewalker, he saw a regular human face. Jaime felt both relief and fear as he gazed upon the boy’s familiar, lined eyebrows, pale white cheeks and a slightly reddened nose. He was relieved that he could see people as human again and fearful because he knew he couldn’t do this. 

He couldn’t kill the boy. His hands left the sword’s hilt and it dropped back in his scabbard with a cling. 

Something let out a high sound. Jaime turned to find the direwolf growling. It must have awoken as he stared at Bran. 

“Calm down wolf.” Jaime hissed. “I’m leaving.” 

The direwolf clenched his teeth, prowling forwards. As Its teeth started to chomp, Jaime knew he was seconds away from being eaten by the wolf. It felt like he was in that cell again. The one where he sat, chained in the middle of a dirt pit, as he watched Robb Starks wolf as it spat slobber in front of his face and threatened to eat him alive.

“I don’t mean him an-any h-harm.” Jaime stammered. 

The wolf continued to growl. It was as if it could read his mind and knew what Jaime had planned. As it growled and drool dripped down its mouth, Jaime tried to think of some way to survive. Maybe, if Jaime said its name, it would stop. 

What did Bran call it? Some season, right? Spring? Winter? Fall? How Jaime longed for summer instead of this frigid fall. Summer.

“Summer,” Jaime yelled. “Stay down, Summer.” 

To Jaime’s relief, the wolf stopped chomping its teeth and it sat down, its tail thumping loudly on the floor. 

Jaime glanced at Bran and found the boy still sleeping, completely oblivious to Jaime’s near death experience. 

The wolf grinned, saliva continuing to pour out of its mouth, but it was thankfully calm and unthreatening. 

Jaime walked around the animal, careful to not step on its long tail. The wolf simply smiled and watched him leave without another sound. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, Jaime slowly walked in the Stark’s home’s dark, empty hallways. All he saw were shadows of various statues that were reflecting from the lanterns.

After he escaped the Stark’s home, Jaime ran, his legs leading to the one place he felt safe in the whole of Winterfell. 

For several minutes, Jaime panted and rested, cross-legged, in front of the Godwoods tree. Internally, he begged for an answer. How? How can he protect Cersei this time if Bran told Ned Stark what she did to that Stark guardsman? 

“Bran,” Jaime whispered. “What should I do? I failed. I completely failed at preventing a potential war between our houses.”

The tree didn’t answer. Not that Jaime expected it do. He just hoped that for once he would hear the Gods, even the blasted Northern Gods, would guide him. 

“Maybe. It’s my fear talking. I protected Young Bran. He’s alive, with working legs, even.” Jaime laughed, hastily. “Maybe, Cersei killing a guardsman instead of a family member won’t lead to the same hatred between our families. Maybe, war isn’t inevitable. Maybe, the kingdom can stay united to fight the dead.”

He fell silent when there was no answer. The gods continued to abandon him. The Bran who had sent him back continued to be a memory. 

He listened to the soft sounds of the trees branches for several more minutes. He hated every moment as he became more certain that no answer was coming.

“Answer me! Damn Old Gods! Bran! What should I do?” Jaime put a hand on his forehead, enjoying its coldness against his aching head. 

“Lannister!” Cassel shouted behind him. Jaime would recognize that voice anywhere. Were the Northern Gods actually going to answer a southern man? 

Jaime turned, relieved to see confirmation that he was seeing people as human again. 

“Yes?” Jaime said calmly. “What can I do for you Cassel?”

“You’re coming with me. You need to answer for your crimes.” The dark shape of Cassel walked towards Jaime. Even in the darkness, his anger was obvious from his furious shouting. He sped forward, but was still a good deal of distance away. 

“What do you think I’ve done now?” Jaime shouted back, trying to appear aloof as he lean his head against the tree. “Damaged your supply of ale? I think that is more the King’s forte.” 

“He’s a boy, Kingslayer. I never thought that even a person like you would attack a defenseless, little boy. But you have.” 

Cassel was not wrong. Jaime had done that before. But in this time, the door was closed while Jaime was in the room. How could he know? Especially since Jaime had left the room without hurting Bran even a little. 

“I…” Jaime began. 

“Whose hurt, Ser Jory?” Ned Stark emerged from the shadows. 

Jaime shivered. What did the man overhear? Was he there listening to Jaime scream about Cersei’s crime? 

Cassel stopped ganging forward. “Lord Stark. I am sorry. I have terrible news. Your son was attacked. Tomard and I was patrolling your house after the feast, and, when we went to Bran’s corridor, we heard his direwolf howling. We went into his room and found Bran with a dagger in his chest.” 

Stark frowned, closing his eyes, before opening them again. His face became firm, expressionless. “Did you see who did it?” 

“No. But a servant saw the Kingslayer walking out of Bran’s room.” 

Jaime froze. He had not heard anyone outside the room. Someone had seen him. This was just what he needed; the opportunity to be beheaded before he fixed the future. He didn’t kill the boy. He didn’t even touch him this time.

“Why were you in my son’s room?” Stark’s dark eyes watched him closely. 

“I-I…” Jaime paused, thinking quickly. He really should have thought this through before going to the boy’s room. “I was checking on him. He’s close to my nephew. I knew he was startled by the earlier events like Tommen was.” 

Stark kept staring at him, his disbelief clear on his face. 

Cassel snorted and provided more details to his accusation. “The Kingslayer somehow locked the direwolf in a chest. We found the Kingslayer’s blood and some of fingers on top of that very chest.”

“I have no idea whose blood and fingers those are. But there are not mine.” Jaime showed his unblemished hands to both men, inwardly beaming at the sight of his right hand. 

Cassel groaned. “I don’t know how you did it. But I know your involved somehow Lannister.”

To Jaime’s surprise, Stark shook his head. “He wasn’t involved. The person who killed Jacks must have stuck again. The Kingslayer was with my brother at the time of Jack’s fall and was here when Bran was …” He closed his eyes, letting out a agitated breath. “Jory, please come with me to Bran’s room. We can search for answers their instead of barking off the wrong tree.” 

Cassel sighed, “As you wish, my lord.” 

Stark nodded and started walking towards his house. 

Before following the Warden of the North, Cassel whispered to Jaime, “I know you had something to do with it. You are going to answer to your crimes. That’s my promise to you.”

Jaime simply laughed as he inwardly cringed. 

He began the day with so much hope that his actions would lead to a better future. But everything he did today led him closer and closer to failing in the worst way. 

A war was coming. A war that was difficult enough to live through the first time.


End file.
